The Lion and the Lamb: T'Shaka's Origin
A Soan Son's Imbeleko My village was my home, the only one I’d ever known. I have a family who loves me and a future in Soa, the realm where I was born. My name is Nkosenye, and here is my tale. I was to be a brother. I remember the day my mother told me; I was overjoyed, hysterical at the thought of another member of my family to love. My father glowed. For many months the people of the village spoke well of the child-to-be, and gave their well-wishes that the spirits of the ancestors would be generous. Months went on, and my mother’s belly grew. Everytime I looked upon her, I was happy for her. But… I could not help but think of my aunts. Three of them, all wed, all with child. One died in the womb, the others delivered. But our village has very little; food is scarce, our shelters are in disarray and do little against the beating Sun above. I kept thinking that my sibling would come into a world of pain and hunger. I kept thinking that my sibling was going to die. And so the day of my sibling’s Imbeleko came, and I told my father of my intentions: ……… “Father,” I said, the ceremony raging around us as the tribe banged on their war drums to commune with the ancestors, “Is mother ready?” He put his large, powerful hand on my shoulder. “Yes, and the Elders are as well.” He must have noticed the hesitation in my eyes; he was so good at reading me. “Nkosenye, are you alright?” “Just nervous, father. I’ve wanted to be a big brother for so long, I just hope I manage to do what is right for them.” “For him.” I looked up, a glimmer of wonder in my eyes. “Him?” “Your mother Shiandi is shrewd with our ancestors, and they have blessed her for her spirit. My son, you will have a baby brother.” I was overcome with emotion. I nearly wept right there, but I had to keep my composure. This was not my day, this was my mother’s... and my brother’s. “One more thing,” my father said. “I’ve been told the ritual incense this year is different. A rare strain of flower, one that only grows across the Sea of Worms, was traded to us for our small store of diamonds . They call it Mortis, and it is… strong. So if you see anything strange when the ceremony begins, do not be afraid. All is going according to plan.” My mother emerged from the tent, her body robed in our villages most sacred ceremonial garments. All mother’s-to-be were made to be gorgeous on the day of their child’s Imbeleko, but my mother put all the rest to shame. “It is time to meet with them,” she said. The three of us now held hands, my mother in the middle and myself on her left, as we walked the procession towards the Ancestral Tree. The Imbeleko was a sacred day determined by the moon and stars where the ancestors of one’s family bestowed their blessing on the child-to-be. This was a naming day; my mother would say the name of my brother for the first time aloud, and the village would rejoice. So we approached the Ancestral Tree, our grips tight in anticipation. Three women, all older than I ever wished to be, sat proudly under the canopy of the large acacia. Before their feet were offerings and memories; the village had erected them in our honor. Fruits, beads, weapons, toys for my brother and clothing too, and even some jars of spice. One of the women, Elder Sibongile, held a small lamb in her lap. “Shiandi,” she said to my mother, “are you ready?” My mother nodded, and my father and I stepped back. The drums grew louder. Sibongile placed the lamb upon a stone altar; my mother placed her hands upon the small creature and closed her eyes in contemplation. It was dark, the fires of the ceremony burning bright into the night sky, and still my eyes wandered to the stars above. The ancestors would speak with my mother now, under the eyes of their Tree, and give her their blessing. I looked out upon the fields of grass surrounding our village, thinking our ancestors could even be out there now. Something else was. I squinted into the night, unsure of what I had just seen. Far away, hidden in tall grass and darkness, were several people huddled together. There was a gentle glow of embers at their feet, silhouetting them against the moon-bright sky. They were looking at me. All at once I felt dizzy; I closed my eyes and attempted to fight away the sensation. When I opened them, the strangers were gone. My mother was standing now, her hands upon her stomach, her face beaming. Sibongile stood beside her, a sharp knife in hand. With the letting of blood from the lamb, the ceremony would be complete. Powerful incense from the Mortis wafted from all direction as the drums grew louder. I wondered if perhaps my nerves were making me dizzy? I closed my eyes again, but when I opened them, my mother was nowhere to be found. Everyone was gone. I panicked, looking around to see where I was. I could see… the village? In the distance, I saw the Ancestral Tree. I saw the Imbeleko. I saw Me. I was in the grass, standing now where I saw those strangers before. I turned around, reaching for my club... which I had left behind for the ceremony. I was defenseless. There were shadowy figures before me, their faces concealed by swirling darkness. They huddled about a gentle flame, each more unmoving than the last. “Who are you!” I shouted. I received no response. I prepared myself to run, but one of the figures spoke in tone that I had never heard and yet seemed so familiar. “My child,” the figure said, the voice decidedly feminine. “I need your help. We need your help.” She gestured to the other figures. I was compelled to stay, if only for the longing in her plea. Though I could not see her face, I could feel her sadness. Still, I was wary of their intent. “What would you have me do?” One of the figures produced a lamb and laid it upon the stone altar, which somehow I had not seen until now. The womanly figure then revealed a sharp knife and presented it to me. “Speak with the lamb,” she said, “cut its throat, and tell us what you hear.” I grabbed the knife but hesitated. “Who are you? And why should I do this?” The strangeness of the situation dawned on me once again, the reality that I could see myself standing back at the village. The woman spoke, “everything is going according to plan.” The Mortis. I remembered my father’s words. He said I would hallucinate, that the aroma was going to be very strong this year. But this felt so real. Could this really be the work of the ceremony? I closed my eyes, hoping to return to the acacia tree. I opened them: the knife was still in my hand, the lamb still before my feet. “I will do as you say, but please, allow these visions to cease” I said to the figure, having no other course of action. “We trust you; please trust Us.” I knelt beside the lamb and put my head against its body. I could feel the steady thump thump thump of its heart. It was still, allowing me to caress it as I wished. I pressed deep into the side of the small animal and waited. I was patient. I did not have to dwell long until something called out to me. Thousands of voices, all talking as one, spoke out gently but with authority. “You are Nkosenye no more. You will fight for us, we will be remembered through you. Rise, son of Soa. Rise, T’Shaka.” My hand cleaved through the neck of the lamb, as if moved by some unseen force. As the blood spilled and my fingers quivered, all I could do was look upon the darkened faces of the figures before me. “T’Shaka,” I said. “That is what they told me.” I closed my eyes, trying to sort through everything that just happened. I felt the warmth of the lamb’s blood on my fingers, the cold breeze upon my nape, the chill of death in my heart. “Nkosiyabo!” My mother exclaimed. I opened my eyes with a start. I was back at the acacia tree. Everyone was jumping for joy, the throat of the lamb slit and the Elders congratulating my mother. I looked around; no one seemed alarmed. Had I been there the whole time? The field was empty; the shadows were gone. “Nkosenye,” my father said, “your brother has a name: Nkosiyabo. I see you are moved to tears.” I noticed I had been crying. I wiped my face clean with the backside of my hand. “It is good to cry,” he said. “This is an emotional night.” I moved into his reach and hugged him. He hugged me back, bringing my mother in as well. For the remainder of the night we were together, we feasted and danced, and I forgot about T’Shaka. For a time. ……… “Absolutely not!” My father roared at me. “Leaving this village is a death sentence!” Our family argued bitterly in the open sun, away from the ears of the village. We were still riding the wave of emotions from the Imbeleko the night before, and tempers were growing. “Father,” I replied, “I only want the best for Nkosiyabo. There is not enough here in this village, I want him to grow to become a man!” “My son,” my mother said, sparing me the wrath of my father. “Going to Usk will get you killed. The Old City is a tomb, no one who sets foot there survives.” “I have to try,” I said. “My brother deserves the best.” “Nkosenye,” my father said, his voice now lower. “Do you know why there are so few men in our village? Why all of our Elders are women?” I shook my head. “Some many years ago, when you were just a baby, men like you had the same thoughts. They were good men, strong men. Men like your uncle.” I noticed a heaviness in my father’s face. I felt such pain radiating off him. “I told them it was dangerous, that Usk was never to be touched by humanity. They went anyways… and never returned.” I remained silent. “I love you, my son,” he continued. “You are a good, kind man who has made me so proud. But I cannot let you leave for Usk, no matter how tempting those ‘riches’ may seem.” He took his leave of the house, leaving my mother and I to contemplate the heaviness of his words. “I’m going,” I said. “I know father is concerned, but it won’t be a large caravan heading into Usk. If it is just me, and no one else, I can hide. I can sneak. I can run. Nothing will see me, and even if I bring back just one satchel of treasure, Nkosiyabo will never know hunger.” My mother said nothing; she stood slowly, the weight of her belly slowing her down. She walked to the edge of our humble stone home and reached low for the chest; Father’s chest. Despite his trust in me I was never to open it. “You are very much like your ancestors, Nkosenye. Strong, proud, unashamed of the humble life you live but craving better for those you love. I know there is nothing we can do to stop you…” She pulled a sheathed blade from the chest. “But at least I can prepare you.” ……… I clenched my meager supplies and our family blade as I walked into the valleys of parched earth that separated our little village from the rest of Soa. My goal was simple: reach the ruins of the empire of Usk and take what I could. My journey was fraught with hunger and boredom, though thankfully I was able to acquire enough water along the way to prevent the mirages from consuming me. I knew it would take time, but I was a patient man. We lived so very far from Usk for good reason. It was no longer the dominion of the living. It was noon, some three weeks into my voyage, when I spotted my quarry in the desert sun; the walls. High stone structures, greater than anything I had ever seen, peaked between the flurries of sand in the distance. Even after centuries of ruin, most of the wall still remained. I walked faster, adrenaline pumping through me. Finally. As I neared the cliff-like stone structure, I realized the ground beneath my feet was no longer sand but cracked, barren earth. Strewn about the field of dust were the remnants of soldiers, their banners and equipment bleached stark white by the years of harsh sun. Only skeletons remained. Clang clang clang I heard a ringing of metal from the wall. I looked out across the piles of corpses to see a figure standing at the wall, facing the stone edifice. It was… banging its helmeted head against the masonry. I froze. The stories, the warnings, they couldn’t be true could they? I stumbled backwards, my usual care abandoned with my fear. I stumbled over a cadaver, the sound ringing across the sand like an alarm. The creature at the wall turned; no skin clung to its ebony face. Human teeth seemed to smile at me. It’s eyes were black as wells. The undead were here. “T’Shaka…” I heard slither from its rattling husk. It sprang into a run, its boney arms brandishing a rusted bronze club. I turned to run, away from the wall and back into the sea of sand. Decayed fingers and shrieking skulls rose from the earth, their numbers greater than anything I had ever seen. They cut off my escape, ravenous for my blood. I had no other choice; I had to get into the walls. I pressed the original skeleton, its club swinging for my head. I pulled my family’s sword from its scabbard and dodged the blow, bringing my blade up and through the creatures right arm. The sword chipped the bone, but with no flesh to cut, the skeleton only seemed annoyed. It swung again, forcing me to block. It swung again and again, giving me no openings with which to counter. Other undead began to walk towards us. I would be overrun in seconds. He swung again. I knew I had to act or I would die. I braced against the impact with my left arm, taking the full force of the swing. I heard a sickening crack but felt no pain. I brought the pommel of my sword straight into the teeth of the creature, sending it plummeting to the ground. I ripped the creature’s club from its grasp and smashed its boney faces into pieces. Whatever foul magic animated it departed with that, leaving nothing but lifeless, hollow bones. The other creatures were now running; I took my sword and the creature’s club, not yet realizing how badly fractured my left arm was, and ran towards a hole in the wall. Once inside I kept on running, running until my lungs were fire and my feet were bleeding. ……… It was nearly four days until the undead calmed to sleep once more. I used the time to hide, tend to my arm, and gather the treasure I had come for. A bronze pitcher, a golden plate, and plenty of amethyst and lapis jewelry from the home of some antiquated noble house. The inside of the wall was beyond anything I could have ever dreamed. Abandoned buildings stretched beyond what my eyes could see. Vast monuments to ancestors… or rather, something else, dotted the landscape. They seemed human enough, though I noticed the symbol of the seven pointed star adorned their heads and clothing. If this was just the outskirts of the Uskan empire, what did the great capital of Taht-Ma look like? I waited until the right time to leave and departed when the sun was high. Careful of my steps, I leaft the way I entered. No undead rose to stop me, and the voyage home was calm. Then, I arrived. Even from a distance I knew something was afoul. The Ancestral Tree, the proud acacia, no longer stood above our village. I heard no music, no work. My heart sank. I broke into a sprint. As I approached the village, I saw bodies. My people, my kin. They littered the fields and streets, carved up by some long-gone killers. They had baked in the sun; whatever had happened must have transpired shortly after I left. Everything was gone, all our food and supplies, our meager belongings. Nothing remained. I kept running, my eyes burning from sweat and tears as I made my way to my home. I knew before I even entered the door what I would see. I wasn’t ready. My father, Tulaka, lie slumped in the corner. He didn’t have his family sword to protect him. I couldn’t think, I couldn’t breathe. Mother. I raced into the back of the house, small as it was, to find her corpse. She laid upon the bed, stabbed through the stomach where my younger brother had died in her womb. I retched. I took my leave of the house, unable to confront what had just happened. Through dry sobs I saw a man, squatting over one of the cadavers. I didn’t recognize him. I drew my sword and rushed him, screaming at the stranger and demanding answers. He put his hands up in surrender, showing he was unarmed. “Stay your blade!” The man said, a strange accent coating his words, “I mean you no harm!” I halted my advance just short of his throat, though my sword remained ready to draw blood. “Who are you, and what are you doing here?” The stranger, arms still raised, swallowed hard. “Please, friend, this was not of my doing.” It was then I noticed his skin was a strange, almost sickly white color from under the brim of his wide hat. I had heard stories of foreigners from the north with such complexion. Even his hair seemed the color of dry grass. “And why should I believe you?” “Because,” he said, “these corpses have been decaying for quite some time. I just got here. You really think a humble, unarmed traveler could have done this?” He waved his hand around, gesturing to the whole of the village. “No, my friend, this was the work of many blades.” I lowered my sword, the sense of true defeat seeping into my skin. “Who could have done this? Why would they do this?” The stranger unfurled a bundle of cloth and, ensuring I was prepared to catch something, tossed a small dagger at me. Turning it over in my hand, I noticed its crude design. “Pulled that out of one of the chests of these poor people. That right there is orcish make.” “Orcs?” I gasped. I had heard of such vicious creatures but never seen them. To think they did all this… I thought of my mother and my father. I thought of my unborn baby brother. I wasn’t here to protect them. I left to make their lives better and instead, I doomed them. I didn’t even have the chance to say goodbye. I’m alone. I’m all alone. “What should I do now?” I realized just how desperate I must have sounded. “I have nothing left.” “Not true,” the stranger said. “You have that sword, you have some supplies, and, if you like, a map.” He produced a crinkled vellum scroll from his coat. “This will get you where you need to go.” He handed it to me as he put his hand on my shoulder. “Where am I going?” “Anywhere but here. There’s nothing left for you here, son. I’ve searched nearly this entire realm for anything worth taking home, but Soa is nothing but dust. Go north. You can find a new life there, just make sure to follow the path I marked, all other ways are dangerous.” I looked the map over, the strange language alien to me. “What does this word say?” “Lancerus,” he said. “The name of my home. You’ll also need to learn the language, so I’d say start your new life here, in Arn.” He pointed to the spot on the map. “A few Soan speakers there, you can find common ground.” I went to thank him, to pat him on the shoulder, but he had already stooped low to the corpse yet again. He was studying it intently. “Lastly,” he said, “these orcs served a beast named Gorrock, son of the Rock. If you want your revenge against him, know this; he prepares to strike at Lancerus. They could use a man like you.” “I think,” I said, “you may be right.” He smiled wide. “What was your name, son?” “Nko…” I stopped. Nkosenye. That was the name of the man who was not strong enough to protect his village. That was the name of the man who let his family die. That man… was dead now. “My name is T’Shaka.” “Very glad to meet you, T’Shaka. Now you better hurry; something worse than orcs is coming this way.” He pointed towards the horizon, back towards Usk. There in the distance I saw something dotting the horizon. It couldn’t be… “Seems the Undead followed you here, son,” the man said. “So you’d better get a move on.” He stood, dusted himself off, and gazed into the sky. “If they catch you, there’s no mercy.” “But my parents, they must have a proper ceremony…” “No time! You think those creeps out there will wait for you? Get going!” He seemed unafraid. He didn’t stop his investigations. I didn’t even know why he was here. “Who are you? What is your name?” He smiled. “A friend whose name is a prize to be kept secret. Now go, Lancerus awaits you, T’Shaka. I know you won’t disappoint them.” I thanked him again, waved goodbye to the stranger, and mourned my village one last time. I hoped this traveler from Lancerus would be safe; despite his warnings, he did not seem afraid. With that I departed north, the first chapter in my life coming to a close. My village was my home, the only one I’d ever known. I had a family who loved me and a future in Lancerus, the realm where Gorrock would be. My name is T’Shaka, and my tale has just begun. Category:Character lore